Lyrics:
spend my whole life counting
'Cause truthfully nothing is too late to fix, be the Blackbird on the White Album
And if I have so much to say, then why
back in June
If she ain't back by August I may sing a different tune
Got it on my mind to run away and ramble
Calculated gamble, I may never come
Mixtapes by wack DJs adds doo doo play
I'm on the turnpike, the city drifting down the highway
Like a mirage, the style there is all illusion
On videos
your pride aside
Keep me in your life
Keep me by your side
From Day to Night
We cruising and we vibin down the streets of Old Manhattan
Then I wake up,
Slither in the streets, of Manhattan
In the streets of Queens, streets of the Bronx
Streets of Staten Island
Wherever you see 'em they slither
Whoever,
Tired of these rappers, tired of these jackers
I'm tired of these dances by these fuckin' backpackers
And I'm sick of all these hipsters, I'm sick
I've played in LA, and D.C., Manhattan, and Sydney
And Kingston, Jamaica where me Mandy was made
It's 98 degrees in the straight-up shade
I said I'm
From departure to arrival
What does it mean to travel
With your suitcase by the handle
Holding everything you need
Are you going or are you
Just picture a penthouse way up in the sky
With hinges on chimneys for stars to go by
A sweet slice of Heaven for just you and I
When we're alone.
The loveliness of Paris seems somehow sadly gray
The glory that was Rome is of another day
I've been terribly alone and forgotten in Manhattan
I'm
The loveliness of Paris seems somehow sadly gray
The glory that was Rome is of another day
I've been terribly alone and forgotten in Manhattan
I'm
Just picture a penthouse way up in the sky
With hinges on chimneys for stars to go by
A sweet slice of Heaven for just you and I
When we're alone.
from here?
No, ah.. which one is it?
(burp) excuse me. It's the one by the airport... you know... cause we gotta get up early an'.. fly outta here in
Just picture a penthouse way up in the sky
With hinges on chimneys for stars to go by
A sweet slice of Heaven for just you and I
When we're alone.
Jamaica!
Just cause I'm guilty
We burn from Jamaica straight back to America
Don't live at all
Philly! Manhattan! Yo! Washington!
Let's get the party
drummer beater
Brown sugar is sweeter beats by Peter
Like I said before, thump in my trunk
That's all I really need and
A bag of blue funk
La la la la la
a picture with my eyes, I'm your golden
Nothing could ever disguise
(New Manhattan)
Sold to me, but I'll deny I'm safe from harm by your side
Anywhere
Just picture a penthouse way up in the sky
With hinges on chimneys, for stars to get by
A sweet slice of Heaven for just you and I
When we're
Horses in the meadow by the highway side
And a Church of Christ in a double-wide
Clouds overhead are ghostly gray
It snowed a little but it didn't
Near a tree by a river
There's a hole in the ground
Where an old man of Aran
Goes around and around
And his mind is a beacon
In the veil
a tree by a river
There's a hole in the ground
Where an old man of aran
Goes around and around
And his mind is a beacon
In the veil of the night
can do
I was a poet, a magazine writer
Sent to report on political views
It was by chance through a lens that I met you
A Capetown girl with no shoes
I was a poet, a magazine writer, sent to report on political views
It was by chance, through a lens that I met you, a Kingston girl with no shoes
what I'm talking about?
Sure it's scary, but you can make a lot of money with a voice box
Get a voice box, walking around the streets of Manhattan
"You
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